


First Years

by MayM



Series: Hogwarts School of Deducing and Wizadry [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fandom crossover, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Irene Adler - Freeform, John - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Mike Stamford - Freeform, Minor Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock's Violin, dimmock - Freeform, hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizadry, wand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayM/pseuds/MayM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, coming from his pure blood, unloving family is welcomed into Hogwarts at the same time as John Watson, a muggle born coming from his loving yet argumentative family. They are swept away in the school of magic, joined with their wizarding friends and enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nine And Three Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea struck me of doing a massive fanfic of Sherlock and John joining Hogwarts five years before Harry Potter has. Please tell me any mistakes I've made, and btw, because I'm making this five years before HP+TPS I've made up a load of my own characters, in addition to the Sherlock ones and Harry Potter ones (such as the teachers, Percy Weasely and the others when they are old enough to come up etc) and plus I will make up some new spells that I thought will fit in nicely with both stories :) And please please PLEASE comment any critical feedback, that can be spellings, corrections on information I got wrong from either Harry Potter or Sherlock, as it will really improve my writing and later fics :)  
> Tell me in the comments if you think it's worth me doing further than the first year and how I can improve, I'd like to keep you guys interested in this story as best as I can!  
> And also, the relationships aren't coming to come in until their 4th and 5th years (like in harry potter) so those tags of all those different relationships are later :)  
> Disclaimer: Most of these characters are owned by ACD, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC, or JK Rowling, as do the places included in this fanfic. This is purely a fanfic of a crossover between two of my favourite fandoms, only a few people I have made up myself :)

 

“Goodbye, sweetheart!” John's mother bustles him into a hug, her cardigan tickling his neck. Her inhales her musky perfume and murmurs back into her breast,

“Bye, mum!” She pulls him back at arms length, and smiles sweetly at him. His dad, the ex-army doctor, claps him on the shoulder, eyes twinkling with pride.

“Make us proud, mate.” John returns their smiles, and as the train whistle soars through the bustling platform, he gives them one last peck on the cheek, before grabbing his trunks. He hauls them on to the train. John presses himself up against the wall as older girls and boys sprint past him, laughing and whooping as they reunite with their school friends. Glancing out of the window, John spots a family of four standing together.

One of them stands tall, yet looks bored, his eyes trailing around the platform, and resting on John. John's eyes flick down, avoiding contact, but they slide back up to the family once he's sure he is no longer being stared at. The man who stared at him looks around seventeen in age, his coppery hair finely trimmed and his hooked nose scrunching up as his mother rubs his arm. His mother is poshly dressed, a belted black coat brushing her knees and wrapping around her thin frame, black tights and black high heels, a black hat with a netted piece of lace dangling in front of her eyes. Her black gloves reach up to her elbows, and her shocking red lips contrast with the rest of her outfit. Her lips purse as her son picks up his trunk, pecks her on the cheek, shakes hands with his father, and snaps at his younger brother. He then walks away with his head held high towards the steam train. Climbing on gracefully, he then steps onto the floor of the train, a few meters from where John stands.

John lets out a small yelp as his owl nips at his dangling hand, blood starting to spill out of the tear in his skin. The boy nods at John, and then walks off down the corridor. Sucking his finger, he turns back round to look out of the window.

The younger brother is brought into a hug by his mother. His raven curls rest just under her chin, and although her hands are wrapped tightly around him, his shoulders tighten and his arms remain at his side. She releases him with a sigh, and his father extends his suited arm, hand held out professionally. The boy stares at it for exactly 5.8 seconds, before reaching down for his own trunks, and turning away from his parents. His father's hand lowers and drapes around his wife's shoulders, and he draws her close to him. Her arm wraps around his waist and they watch as their son slips his hands under the handles of his trunks. They smile, but it never reaches their eyes.

The boy lifts his head up, and John feels his breath hitch in his throat. The curls on his head bounce with the movement, and the sunlight captures inside them. His eyes, slightly further apart than most, are piercing, a colour unable to describe. Defined cheekbones strike out, along with a deeply defined upper lip. The first thought of his appearance John thinks is “weird” however as he takes in all his features and the air he carries with him, he transforms into a piece of art, oddly beautiful. His frame is quite lanky, but he still manages to pick up the trunks, surprising John with his ease for such thin arms. He too enters the train, and walks down the corridor, following his brother.

The train whistles again, and John leans out of the window, waving frantically at his parents until the station is just a speck in the distance. John turns down and picks up his trunks and his bird's cage, and peers around the corridor. He makes his way down the opposite way the boy went, and checks in various carriages, looking for an empty one.

Near the end, when nearly all hope is lost, a familiar face pokes out of one of the carriages. “John! John Watson!” Taken aback, John stares at the face with wonderment. “It's me, Mike Stamford? We went to Bart's primary together.” Mike was always a friendly person, quite jolly, but not the smartest. His doughy face breaks into a huge grin as he stares at John in amazement.

“Mike yes, I know, I had no clue you were a wizard?”

“Likewise,” He replies with an easy smile. “You wanna join me and a few friends? You look a little lost,”

“Sure, sure.” He hauls his belongings along, red faced and sweating. He enters the carriage and looks around.

A young girl sits by the window, hands in her lap and gazing out at the green blur. Two other boys sit, laughing and playing a game with a peculiar set of cards. “This is Molly Hooper, Antoine Roberts and David Dimmock. Everyone, this is John Watson.” John holds up a hand and half waves, Molly turns her head and smiles serenely at him, and then returns her gaze to the rolling countryside. The two boys grunt their greeting, engrossed in their game. “Here, let me help you with that.” He lifts his trunks up to the metal shelf above the window, John picks up his owl, places the cage on the seat next to the door, and then sits next to his bird. Mike sits across from him. “I'm quite surprised to see you here, I mean, it's just my parents know nearly all the wizards in London, I'm sure they must have mentioned your family, but I just can't remember!”

“Oh, um, that's because my family aren't wizards. It's just me actually.”

The confusion leaves his face and is replaced by a warm smile. “Oh I see! So you're muggle-born!”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Right, that's a relief, would have been awkward if your family was a wizard family and I forgot. Never good to make a wizard family seem like less than yours! These lot also live in London, met them through parents, they all went to Hogwarts themselves when they were younger you see.” He pauses, before leaning in, and saying in a hushed voice, “My mum was actually at Hogwarts with Lily Potter, you know, well, Lily Evans back in those days, she was in her seventh year when Lily joined second year. In the same house they were,”

“Lily Potter?” At John's words, everyone in the carriage look at him, with mixed expressions of disbelief and shock. “Lily Potter, the mother of Harry Potter?” Mike asks, and John shakes his head, bewildered.

“Should I know of him?”

“Of course you should! Why, there isn't a single person in the wizarding world that doesn't know of him! Harry Potter is-” He breaks off as the carriage door slides open, and the boy John was watching on the platform stands in the doorway, looking down at Mike.

“Deary me Mike, gushing about Harry Potter, are we?” He extends his hand to Mike and he reaches up and shakes it.

“Oh, hi! I was just telling John here about him.” The boy's eyes swivel down to John and scrutinizes him. John feels himself fidget under the intense stare. They release their hands from each others grasps.

“Oh yes, the one watching my family from the train.” John feels a blush creep up to his cheeks. “The name's Sherlock Holmes.” He extends his hand, and John shakes it, surprised by his formality. Sherlock's grip is firm, and does one quick shake before releasing his hand. “What was I... Oh yes!” He turns, smiling at Mike, “Can I use your owl? I need to send a letter and Mycroft is busy in the prefects carriage, he got head boy and is thoroughly irritating about it, so I can't use his.” He adds to John, “I got a cat.” He then faces Mike again and smiles expectantly.

“Sorry, Sherlock, I got a, um, toad.” He reaches into his pocket and holds the murky brown toad up for all the carriage to see, its pudgy legs hanging over his stumpy hand, its throat swelling rapidly and then deflating with a ripping croak. Sherlock lets out a sigh, shoulders sagging. He falls quiet for a few seconds, just the sound of the shouts and crackles from the card game and the chugs and puffs of the engine can be heard. He sways with the rocking carriage.

“You could, uh, borrow mine? If... If you want to.” Sherlock raises his eyebrows at Mike, turns to John and lifts one side of his mouth up in a grateful smirk.

“Thank you.” He pulls out a letter enveloped in Bohemian stationary, the writing on the front scrawled, yet still elegant. John unlocks the cage to his bird, and the tawny owl swoops out of its cage. She lands on John's knee and yellow orbs flecked with brown watch him readily, her legged pointed towards him.

“No, no, Clara, it's not my letter you're delivering.” She lifts her head haughtily, and twists round to peer at Sherlock. “My sister, Harry, bought her for me on my eleventh birthday in Diagon Alley, the day I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Just broke up with her girlfriend you see, practically begged me to name her Clara.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and mutters, “Sentiment,” Under his breath. For nine seconds, Sherlock and Clara stare at each other, sizing the other one up, before she lets out a low hoot, and swoops up to Sherlock's hooked arm. He then ties the letter to her leg, and she takes off out through the opened window. “How was surfing?” Sherlock asks.

“Sorry?” Sherlock's eyes swivel down and meet John's.

“I asked, how was surfing?”

“Well um, how did you...?” Sherlock smirks at Mike before returning to face John.

“Oh quite obvious, well, obvious to someone that observes.”

“Did, did you tell him about me?” John asks to Mike, but Mike merely shakes his head.

“I didn't know you were coming here mate, why would I tell Sherlock what you did when you were on holiday?”

“Then how did you-” John begins, yet is interrupted by Sherlock as he narrows his eyes at him.

“Nothing big, John. Your father, obviously by the way he stands and is dressed, has just returned from the military, however his tan is no longer on just his wrists, it also goes half way up his shoulders, so he's worn one thing on holiday since returning, possibly a short sleeved wet suit. And then there's you. Your tan line is just at the wrists, suggesting a longer wet suit, and there are still faint red marks on your wrists where the material must have dug into your skin, so you would have gotten back, oh I'd say, under a week ago? Judging by the way your family dressed and the state of your trunks, no offense, shows not very much money in the family, the surfing trip must have been celebrating something, possibly your birthday, more likely your acceptance into a wizarding school coming from a muggle family, and most probably because of the low amount of money you stayed in England, so the tan is more a wind tan than a sun tan, which usually only happens during water sports. How do I know you're a muggle born? First of all your sister doesn't look much older than you, so if you were a wizarding family she would be on this train too. She's not a squib, your whole family looked quite nervous and excited standing on that platform as if it was the first time for them all, plus your topic of conversation when I entered the room, Harry Potter, you were being told about him for the first time. Obviously muggle born. So, back to the surfing. Your muscles aren't majorly defined, however more so than most eleven year olds, yet you seemed to strain when picking up your trunks, as if the movement caused you pain, so you've been using your arms, back and leg muscles recently, and a lot in a short amount of time. At first I thought skiing, but eliminated the idea as you have no tan line around your eyes; you weren't wearing goggles which would be an idiotic idea in the summer as the sun reflects off of the snow and burns exposed skin and can blind eyes. As well as that, most people don't go skiing in the summer. Leading back to water sports, most common and cheapest one in the UK is surfing. And so for the third time, I repeat, how was surfing?” He takes a steadying breath at the end of his fast paced deductions, and grows nervous, worried that John will react to him like his family and the the kids at his primary. The only people that ever accepted him were Mike and Molly, the only two here he had properly met. His parents preferred to stick to only pure bloods, so although he had heard of Roberts and Dimmock, he had never met them.

“That was... amazing.” A genuine smile of relief and happiness flickers across Sherlock's face, before he composes himself and raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you, John, however I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to repeat myself a fourth time.”

“Yeah, it was great... Really great.” He stares at Sherlock with awe, and Sherlock grows embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“Thanks for letting me use your owl.” He says to John, inclining his head. He then faces Mike and hurriedly apologises, “Sorry, got to dash, I never like rushing so I'm going to go change into my robes. Afternoon.”

Mike holds up a hand and nods his head, the two boys murmur a farewell each, and Molly squeaks out “Bye, Sherlock!”. Her words going unnoticed, and she cowers back into her seat. Sherlock nods at Mike, and sweeps out the carriage door, sliding it behind him with a snap. John glances around the carriage. The two boys continue playing their gaming, growing more and more agitated every passing minute. Molly sits, face bright red and her eyes down as she watches her fumbling fingers. They finally rest on Mike, who grins at John's mixed expression.

“Yep. He's always like that,” Chuckling, he turns to cheer on the winning boy in the intense game, leaving John to stroke the cool metal bars of the birdcage absentmindedly and stare at the carriage door- the place previously inhabited by the boy he unknowingly knows will bring him hundreds of adventures, mischief, frustration and joy in the seven years to come at the magical place of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)  
> Sorry if the last line was a bit cheesy, and if the deductions weren't all that good, I find them quite hard to write! (God knows how ACD, Moffat and Gattis wrote/write them!!)  
> Please leave any feedback in the comments, much appreciated :3


	2. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train journey continues, and they are all entertained by a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean!

“Anything from the trolly, dears?” An hunched woman slides open the door and peers into the carriage. John feels his jaw drop as he sees the loaded cart she pushes in front of her. Layers of shelves stack on top of each other, crammed full with brightly coloured sweets, cakes, chocolate, all unknown to John. The top shelf explodes with pots of more goodies, and a sweet aroma lures the others to their pockets to search for money.

He pulls out the small pouch of the meager galleons his parents had given him for his birthday, meant to last for as long as possible. Mike, whilst rummaging in his trouser pocket, asks “Yeah could I get three chocolate frogs, a small box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and a cauldron cake, thanks.” She passes them to him, and he gives her a galleon. John watches with glee the amount of sickles he gets passed back to him.

“Could I have a look at what you've got, please?” She smiles sweetly at John.

“Just the usual stuff, love.”

“Sorry, I don't know the usual stuff.”

“Oh, of course love,”

***

 

John sits back down, putting his pouch back into his pocket, seven sickles shorter than he was before. In his hand he holds a chocolate frog, a cauldron cake, and a jelly toad.

Biting into the jelly toad, a cold gooey liquid oozes into his mouth, and with a smack of his lips, he realises it's jam, however not strawberry, his favourite.

“Pumpkin jam that is, great stuff,” Mike says, mouth full with cake.

“I love jam!”

Humming with delight, he swallows, relishing in the tangy sweetness before popping the rest of the frog in his mouth.

“Here, try this,” Mike says, leaning forward and holding out a red sweet, and as innocent as it looks, John heard what they were called.

“When it says every flavoured beans...”

“Literally every flavour!” Mike exclaims, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Don't worry, mate, I've had that one before, Mike's being generous, strawberry jam that is!” Roberts bares his brilliant white teeth at John in a wide smile, clenching his jaw to try hold back laughter. John grew up with a soldier as a father. He knows when something is wrong, yet that didn't mean he was going to appear weak or cowardly.

“Fine, I will,” He replies coolly as he sticks his chin out defiantly. John plucks the small sweet from Mike's outstretched hand, preparing himself for tomatoes or something else just as horrible. Cautiously, he places it on his tongue, and then rolls it to his teeth. He bites. A rusty, salty taste spreads through his mouth, slightly warm and a thick, heavy feeling to it. It reminds him of when his dad's brother was living at their house before he died and in a drunken and drug dosed state, punched John in the jaw. Blood.

He scrunches up his face and swallows the sickly sweet, sticking out his tongue and shuddering. John looks up to see Antoine and Mike clutching each other, howling with laughter. Dimmock, who was previously chatting with Molly, glances up and chuckles, and Molly lets out a nervous giggle, holding her finger up to her mouth, trying to stop herself.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Snaps John, pulling a sour face at the dull metal taste still lingering in his mouth. “Alright, you try one then,” He throws at Mike, nodding his head towards the box in his hands.

“Fine,” Replies Mike, wiping his eyes. Roberts composes himself, letting out small breaths of laughter every few seconds. Mike draws out an avocado green one, flecked with orange, yellow and brown. His smile drops off his face which then drains, his once rosy cheeks now a pasty white.

“No,” He gasps in a horrified whisper. “No no, I can't do this!” Vomit flavour, thinks John, and a grin spreads across his face. He lowers his hand back into the box.

“Not so fast! I wasn't even allowed to choose mine, let alone pick another!” John retorts.

“It is true, mate, it's in the rules.” Robert says, a wicked smirk plastered on his face as his eyes stay fixated on the sweet.

“There are no rules to eating sweets!” Cries Mike, eyes wide and desperate behind his glasses.

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!” Chants Dimmock, encouraging the others to join in with gestures of his hands. Soon, the carriage is filled with their shouts, and Mike brings a shaking hand to his mouth. Scrunching up his eyes, he pops it into his mouth and chews. The carriage falls silent, waiting for his reaction.

Mike's eyes blow open wide, and a relieved grin smooths out his face. “Salad!” He manically laughs at their disappointed faces.

“Let me try one!” Roberts plunges his hand into the box, and nudges Dimmock. Grudgingly, he too leans forward and takes two, passing one to Molly. They all hold them up.

Robert's is a murky brown; Dimmock has a deep purple-blue one; Molly holds a baby pink sweet.

Robert's grin falls, as he stares at his sweet.

“Go on, Antoine,” Cheers Mike, “If I can do it, you can do it!”

“Alright, here goes nothing!”

“Except your laughter,” Retorts Dimmock.

Antoine glares at him, and then chucks it into his mouth. He chews for a few seconds, pondering over its flavour. His face sudden sours, and he clasps his throat.

“Bleurgh! Walnuts!” He chokes, swallowing the sweet and then sticking out his tongue. “Oh well, not as bad as _blood_ ,” He leers at John, and he feels his eyes roll.

“Get on with it, Dimmock,” John moans, and David shoots him a look.

“You took your time with yours, Watson,”

“I'm a muggle born, I had no clue what to expect,” With an accepting shrug, David pops it into his mouth. Imitating Antoine, he clutches his throat, gasping.

“So... gross!” He stammers. His eyes bulge and then roll back into his head. He begins to choke.

“Don't pat him on the back! It can make it worse!” Screeches John. He leaps to his feet and goes to haul Dimmock up, about to squeeze his stomach. However, as he goes to grab him, Dimmock bursts out with laughter. Stunned, John watches him lean back against the seat, holding his sides as he cackles. Wiping his eyes, he looks up at John, and chews on the sweet, rejoicing in the success of his trick.

“Grape, John,” Dimmock jokes, causing the others to join in on his laughter.

“It's not funny,” John growls, beetroot red, and falls back on his seat, glowering at Dimmock.

“You should have seen your faces,” Dimmock says, and soon even John cracks a smile.

“Alright, alright, yes it was very _witty_ David, but it's Molly's turn, remember?” John reminds, and all eyes fall on her.

“Oh, ha ha, I'd thought you'd forget,” She stammers nervously, and then holds up her sweet. With an intake of breath, her whole face scrunches up. Holding her fingers to her lips, she throws her head back, and chews. Her face sags with relief, and she smiles as she giggles, “Ham.”

The compartment door slides open, and reveals Sherlock, clad in his wizarding robes.

“Just to remind you all, we'll be arriving soon, I'd get dressed if I were you.” He points to the window, and they notice for the first time the black glass and that the lamps above them had turned on automatically during their game.

“Thanks, oh hey, you want one?” Asks Mike, shoving the box towards Sherlock.

He smirks, and slides one finger into the box. He draws a sweet out and pinches it in his long slender fingers. “Child's play,” He states, and then draws out a small notebook. He flicks through it and then holds it up at a page, comparing whatever is on the paper to the bean. He riffles forward a few more pages until his concentrated expression clears and is replaced with a smile. “I have eaten, identified and sketched two hundred and forty three different types of these, and so by my notes, this should be vomit flavoured.” He holds it at arms length and revolves it slowly, for all to see –all except Molly who seems to have found the floor extremely interesting ever since Sherlock entered- before bringing it to his mouth and slipping it in. His face sours, yet there is still grim satisfaction in his eyes as he chews. “What a surprise, I was right.” He declares, before sweeping out of the carriage and sliding the door behind him.

“Well, let's go get changed then, Hogsmeade Station can't be too far away.” Mike sighs, before getting up to haul down everyone's trunks. Excitement flips in John's belly as he realises how close they are to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, just a small chapter to to keep you interested, I've had a lot of homework etc so not very long or pushing the story along, sorry! Oh and by the way, I won't be able to upload another one until Saturday at least, because tomorrow I have an English trip until 11:30 pm, and Friday I have my gran round for a sleepover and I'm not sure what time she leaves in the morning, and I have a busy weekend, so yeah, please be patient! I'll try do it as fast as possible :)  
> And thank you so much for reading this guys, it means a lot :D  
> If any of you have tumblr my url is mayalilian.tumblr.com I'll happily follow any of you if you want me to :3


	3. Boat Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Hogsmeade Station and take the boat trip to the castle

“Ooh, John, don't you look dashing in those robes,” Smirks Dimmock as John turns back around after changing to face the others.

“Why, thank you, I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so,” John replies, holding an index finger up to his pouting lips, his eyebrows knitting together and raising slightly. They all chuckle, and he flops down onto the seat. “I wonder how long it will be until we get there,” He ponders aloud.

Molly squeals and points at the window, “I see the station!” The rapid puff slows down until each one is just seconds apart, the rocking motion more of gentle sway. A loud screeching noise and hiss screams through the air, and John covers his ears.

“We're here!” Whoops Antoine, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. They lurch forward as it stops completely. Regaining balance, they leap to their feet, crowding around the metal shelf. They all help each other haul down the trunks.

John glances out of the window and jumps at the looming shape. It raps on the window, and after leaning forward and squinting, he exclaims, “Clara!”. He unlocks the window and his bird flaps through, her feathers soaked and slightly ruffled from the howling winds and pouring rain. She lands on a chair and bristles, shaking away droplets of water. John swings open the cage door and whistles. Clara hoots softly and soars inside it. He locks the latch.

“Here you are, mate,” Mike huffs, holding out John's trunks, red faced and sweating.

“Oh, cheers,” He replies, hurriedly taking them.

“Come on, we better go,” Pants Molly, and they all bustle out of their compartment. Students flood out of the train, all empty handed.

“Were... Were you not supposed to bring these?” John asks, breathless.

A boy who looks to be in his last year jogs up to them, spotting them in the crowd.

“Guys you're meant to leave those in there, you don't want to bring them on the boats.” He helps them back inside, and then escorts them through the lingering groups to where an exceptionally large man stands with a swinging lantern, bellowing,

“Firs' years follow me! Firs' years, over 'ere!” John, already being the smallest out of all the first years (including the girls to his dismay!) stands underneath him, mouth gaped open as he cranes his neck to see the top of the giant.

“He's called Hagrid,” Whispers Mike, “Rubeus Hagrid. My brother said he's great, but he looks a bit scary to me,” John nods his head vigorously in agreement.

“Alrigh', alrigh', now yer all here, we best go down ter the boats.”

They trudge onward, following the golden light, shuffling in clumps behind the large figure.

They reach the lake.

“Now yer bes' get into groups o' no more than three,”

“Molly!” Molly turns round and spots a boy with short black hair and rather buggish-eyes.

“Jim!” She trills, leaving just the four of them. They stand in an awkward ring, waiting for someone to talk, Antoine, David and Mike sharing glances. The crowd thins out as people clamber into boats in their threes, yelping as the stormy water crashes at the sides and rocks the boats. John furiously glances around the crowd, looking for a pair he could latch on to, when he spots one. A girl with tanned skin and frizzy black hair stands with her hands in her pockets, a bored look on her face as a boy facing her jabbers away. The boy's skin is almost as pale as Sherlock's, and his hooked nose and square shaped face closely resembles that of a dinosaur. Gulping, he turns to the group, “Er... you guys can go together, you know each other from school, I don't want to kick one of you guys out,” They begin to protest, but he waves a hand and they say goodbyes.

Dimmock jokingly adds “Try not to drown!”.

John begins to head towards the pair, when he feels someone grab his arm. “Ow!” He moans, turning to see the owner of the hand, and he comes face to face with Sherlock Holmes. “Oh, Holmes, it's you,”

“Please, call me Sherlock,” He says with a small smile. John nods, “By the way, I wouldn't go with those two, if I were you.” He nods his head towards the pair.

“I need a boat partner though,”

“Yes but Anderson and Donovan, really? _Really_? Do you actually want to die on the boat, and not from physical causes might I add.”

“Alright fine, I won't go with them, but other than them, who shall I go with? Everyone else is already in a group.”

“Not everyone is,” He replies with a quirk of his lip. John returns the smile. “Want to be my boating partner, John?

“Oh God, yes.” He strides behind Sherlock, unable to hold the grin off his face. He had a friend, a proper friend! He knew that the three boys would prefer to keep it just them, and Molly had Jack, or Joe, whatever his name was, and now, John had Sherlock.

“After you,” Sherlock says, waving towards the most shabbiest of all the boats.

“Why this one? The others look so much... sturdier,” John wheedles, but Sherlock merely rolls his eyes.

“Just get in the boat, Watson.” With a sigh, John clambers in, holding on to the slippery edge as he lowers himself into the steadily flooding boat. He then sits and looks up at Sherlock.

Sherlock stands, tall, robes billowing in the rushing wind, facing the boat. His face sets into grim acceptance, and closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he too lowers himself into the boat. It tips as he steps inside, and he quickly drops into a crouch, clutching the seat. Once the rocks have returned to being caused by the waves, he rises slightly and perches next to John, pressing himself against the edge.

“Not a fan of boats I'm guessing?” John asks, unable to suppress his laughter.

“Clearly not.”

“Ah don't worry about it, no one will think you're strange for thinking that, everyone has their own fear.”

“Like you and spiders, and also, I don't care what people think about me.”

“What about me and spiders?”

“You have an irrational fear about them,”

“What? No... No I don't, and anyway, it's not as irrational as a fear of boats.” John replies hotly.

“Yes you do. And mine isn't a fear of boats, I'm not a big fan of boats, my fear is drowning, which as a form of death isn't that irrational.”

“You only know I fear spiders because most people do. You guessed.”

“I never guess.”

“Yes you do.”

A long silence.

“Do not,” Mutters Sherlock, childishly.

“Eve'yone on then? Away we go!” Yells Hagrid. The boats begin to cross the lake, and John and Sherlock's seems to be the slowest. When they started, it was the first boat to move, yet now all the newer boats seem to be taking over them.

“Oh look who it is, Sally,” A male voice drawls. A boat draws up next to them, and a meager meter away sits Anderson and Donovan smirking.

“And who's that with freak, eh?” She asks in a mocking voice.

“A friend,” Sherlock spits out.

“Oooh! A friend! You hear that Anderson? Freak's got a friend. How'd he do it then? Did he jinx ya?” She asks John.

“No, he didn't. He seems much better than you two anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised he has a friend.” The two howl with laughter and fall on top of each other, and their boat speeds away.

“Ignore them.” Sherlock says, the twinkle in his eyes gone, his head drooping slightly.

“I thought you didn't care what people think.” John murmurs.

“I don't.” Snaps Sherlock angrily, turning away from John.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” He hisses.

They sit in silence, the rain beating relentlessly down on them, chilling them to the bone. The boat rocks in the darkness.

“How far away from everyone else are we, Sherlock?” John yells over the screaming wind.

“I'm not sure!” He shouts.

“ _What_?!”

“I said I'm not sure!”

“Well at least the boat's still moving!” With these words, the boat slows down to a sickening pace, until it stops.

“Now what?!” John bellows.

“How am _I_ supposed to know? You're the muggle born, you know how to use boats!”

“Not ones without oars! Anyway, you're the proper wizard, can't you just transport us there?”

“Obviously not John! I need to be able to apparate and considering that isn't legal to learn until we're seventeen, we aren't likely to make it there in one piece, literally! As well as that, my wand is in my trunk, I can't use magic without a wand, I doubt you can either!” They squint against the water running into their eyes, searching for a way out.

“It's hopeless! We're never going to even see Hogwarts!”

“It's not hopeless, John,”

“IT'S NOT HOPELESS? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU SUGGEST WE DO SHERLOCK?”

“Calm down, we're going to be fine,” Sherlock cries, a note of hysteria rising in his voice.

Suddenly, a loud groaning comes from beneath them, and their wide eyes meet. They clutch to the edges as the boat rises in the air with great noise of something breaking the water. With a whoosh, the boat soars high into the air, supported by whatever made the noise. John leans over the edge of the boat, and looks down at the sickening drop. He finds himself grabbing onto Sherlock's hand, him on the opposite side to John, their joint hands in the center of the boat.

“Do you see what I see?” Calls Sherlock.

“Uh-huh!” A pale pink tentacle writhes up out of the water, the skin bumpy and rugged. On Sherlock's side, water gushes in and out of gigantic suckers that open and close in the sand paper wind. Balancing the boat on the its tentacle, the monster glides forward through the water, and in minutes, individual faint lights appear in the distance. Sherlock and John huddle back together, their arms clasped around each other to stay upright and try conserve body heat.

“Sherlock, look!” John points at the growing orbs of light, hundreds of fireflies looming in the distance.

“I know John, I know!” Yells Sherlock, equally as excited. The boat lowers and lowers as the lights get closer. The outline of the castle gets clearer and clearer, and then the tentacle drops under the water, allowing the boat to drift quickly to shore. Hagrid jogs over, and hauls them out of the boat.

“Thought we los' you two! I'll have ter talk to Dumbledore 'bout that boat.” He bellows. “Come on, let's go up ter the castle.” Shivering children glare at them as they come up, having had to stand in the rain for twenty minutes.

They all follow him up, silent as they stare at the castle. The rain starts to subside as they trek up to the castle doors.

“Welcom', ter Hogwarts School o' Witchcraft and Wizardy,” Hagrid beams, and the doors open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, 100 hits! Thank you so much for reading, it means so much :) I hope you are all enjoying this as much as I am writing this!  
> Writing this is literally the highlight of my day.


	4. Sorting Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get sorted into their houses

Basking light floods out of the entrance and welcomes them inside. They are ushered into the room by an elderly woman. Her emerald robes swish as she guides them through.

“Honestly, Hagrid, what took you all so long I don't know. Practically all you can hear in there is stomachs rumbling!”

“Don't blame me professor, one of the boats was slow.”

“Well you should have been paying more attention then!” Sherlock and John exchange sheepish glances as Hagrid grumbles after his scolding. They climb a set of stairs and then stop as the woman turns to face them. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

Sherlock glances down at John where they stand at the back of the crowd, and then looks away as their eyes meet.

“What house do you hope to be in then?” John asks, breaking their small silence.

“Ravenclaw. Obviously.”

“Oh, right yeah, well I think I might be in Hufflepuff, that's what Mike and the others on the train were telling me,”

Sherlock scoffs at this, “Hufflepuff, seriously? You do not want to be in Hufflepuff. Worst of all the houses.”

John, shrugging, replies, “They value friendship and loyalty most, and I do too.” Sherlock ignores him, and he presses forward on conversation, “Which house is your brother in?”

“Slytherin. Most of my family were, they take pride in their ambitiousness. Pointless if you ask me.” John nods, and they fall back into silence.

However, it's shortly lived as the doors swing open, revealing to them a brilliant hall.

“Follow me,” The old woman declares, and then turns on her heel. As they follow her inside, they all flush red as over a hundred eyes watch them shuffle in through the hall. Two rows of benches sit either side of them, empty plates and goblets reflecting the lights. John looks up and admires the twinkling candle lights dangling in mid air, and the stormy ceiling above.

“Why aren't we wet?” He whispers to Sherlock, and receives a side smile.

“It's bewitched to show the sky above it, but it doesn't affect us.” They halt. In front of them, three small stairs lead up to a long table facing them with all the teachers of Hogwarts sitting there, beaming at them. All except one man, that is. A stall rests in front of them, with a manky wizard's hat perched on the seat, its great folds crinkling over themselves.

John hops up and down, craning his neck to try see above the rest of them. Sherlock, being taller than most third years, towers above the rest of them, and leans down to whisper to John, “Stop it, you look like a fool, I'll tell you what's going on,”

“Don't bother,” He grumbles, yet stops jumping anyway.

“The hat is moving, it's opening its mouth,”

“What?” John half whispers half shouts. Someone from the bench near them shushes them, and he mouths an apology.

A deep voice rings out across the hall,

“Ahoy! Welcome!

To all different years

Whether first or second,

Or third or fourth,

Or even a fifth, sixth, seventh,

Wizard or witch

We welcome you here

To the place where spells, potions and charms

Replace science, maths and English.

Not sure if any of you remember

The day that Hogwarts was first born

Of course, you've heard of it,

Again and again,

For every year I tell you the tale

Yet I hope you do understand

That the people standing in this great hall have yet

To learn of the way I was born.

It was over a thousand years ago

Four great wizards were struck by an idea

Let's teach young wizards magic in a school oh so grand

"They shall be power-hungry and shrewd"

Sir Slytherin declared

"No, brave and courageous"

Gryffindor preferred

"Loyal and just, are what they should be"

Sang Lady Hufflepuff

"Why not intellectual and keen for learning?"

Questioned Ravenclaw

And so that day the houses were created

And once set up, they seemed to have a dilemma

How should they be sorted?

Who shall have whom?

And so I was sewn,

And they enchanted me to speak

So put me on your head

A let me see where you shall bed.

Will it be Slytherin's dungeons?

Or Gryffindor's tower?

Is it Hufflepuff's basement where you shall rest your head?

Or will you stay in Ravenclaw's tower?

Sit up on this stool

And let me decide

Do not fear

My sweet dears

And then let the feast begin!”

The hall explodes with applause, whoops and whistles, and the first years join in. They fall silent as the woman ascends the stairs and stands next to the stall, a scroll open in her arms.

“Yao, Soo Lin,” A small, Chinese girl weaves through the crowd and climbs the stairs.

“Ravenclaw!” The hat cries.

“Wilkes, Sebastian,”

A boy at the front steps up to the stall, a smirk on his face. He place sit on his head, and the hat contemplates before yelling, “Slytherin!”

“Watson, John” John gulps as the crowd parts for him, and Sherlock nudges his arm. He takes one step forward, and then another, his slow footsteps echoing throughout the hall.

He reaches the stall and picks up the hat. John sits precociously on the edge and lowers the hat. It ponders for half a minute, humming and making approving noises, before screeching,

“Gryffindor!” Taken aback, John's face breaks into a smile and he slips the hat off and hops off the stool, before joining the rest of the table, their applause and hand shakes welcoming him.

“Vach, Violet,” She calls the next name. She rushes forward and it rests on her head before calling out,

“Slytherin!” Baring her teeth in a smile, she flounces towards the whooping table, tossing her sleek ebony hair over her shoulders.

“Vach, Rose,” Her twin sister stumbles up to the stall, and it lands on her head before shouting

“Ravenclaw!” She throws a worried look towards her sister, who then rolls her eyes, and joins the joyous Ravenclaws.

The list carries on, as so:

“Undervale, Chris,”

“Gryffindor!”

“Stapleton, Jacqui,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Stamford, Mike,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Smith, Elizabeth,”

“Gryffindor!”

“Sawyer, Sarah,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Sail, Lucy,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Sabbith, Octavian,”

“Slytherin!”

“Roberts, Antoine,”

“Gryffindor!”

“Riley, Kitty,”

“Slytherin!”

“Prince, Kenny,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Prince, Connie,”

“Slytherin!”

“Partington, Rachel,”

“Gryffindor!”

“Nora, Harvey,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Mortimer, Louise,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Morstan, Mary

“Gryffindor!”

“Moriaty, James,”

“Slytherin!”

“Magnussen, Charles,”

“Slytherin!”

“Loria, Kate,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Knight, Henry,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Heave, Grace,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Hooper, Molly,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Holmes, Sherlock,”

“Gryffindor!” Sherlock's face sours as he slide into his place next to John, glancing wistfully over to the Ravenclaws.

“Galbraith Andy,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Frankland, Bob,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Fort, Betty”

“Gryffindor!”

“Fisher, Mark,”

“Gryffindor!”

“Farmer, Derek,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Ender, Maria,”

“Gryffindor!”

“Donovan, Sally,”

“Slytherin!”

“Dimmock, David,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Carlton, Craig,”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Cabber, Ross,”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Anderson, Peter,”

“Slytherin!”

“Adler, Irene,”

“Slytherin!” The last girl struts to her place, her eyes flicking to Sherlock as she sits, a smirk playing across her face and her eyes twinkling.

The headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore rises, and spreads his arms out. “Welcome, welcome. Before we begin, I must say that I have missed you all greatly, and to those just joined, good luck with these lot! Now, let the feast... Begin!” At these words, platters of food appears in front of the students, and an eruption of laughter, whoops of joy, and conversations. Hands grab at food, piling their previously empty plates high, and pouring an orange juice into their goblets. John pours himself some and then drinks. He nearly spits it out at the flavour, but drinks it down from how good it tastes.

“Pumpkin juice, that.” A boy says, leaning toward John from across the table. His dark brown hair is slightly spiky with faint strands of lighter colours dusted in it, and shadowy stubble grazes his jaw. He looks to be in his seventh year.

“Thanks, it's delicious!”

“I'm Gregory Lestrade, or Greg for short.” He says, holding his hand out to John.

“John, John Watson,” He replies, smiling at the boy.

“I cannot believe this.” Sherlock grumbles, pushing his meager portion around on his plate.

“What?”

“I'm in Gryffindor! I'm supposed to be in Ravenclaw! There must have been some mistake,”

“I doubt it, it said it looked into your head, plus you never know, you might do well in Gryffindor.” Sherlock scoffs.

“I've come to get some peas, we appear to have 'run out' at my table,” A voice drawls, and Sherlock's brother leans over Greg, slipping a hand around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder as he picks up the peas. He then pecks him on the cheek, drawing a hot blush to crawl up Lestrade's neck and a smile at the same time. “Ah, Sherlock. Wasn't expecting to see you here,”

“Yes well I am, Mycroft,” Sherlock snaps, glaring up at his brother.

“The bravery of the lion, bravery is often the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?”

“What about your boyfriend then?”

“I said often Sherlock, he's the exception.” He squeezes his waist, and then turns on his heel back to his table.

“Idiot.” Sherlock mutters.

“Yet he's the one that got almost perfect O.W.Ls.” He says with a wink, and chortles as Sherlock glares at him. Sherlock puts down his cutlery, and doesn't touch it again for the remainder of the meal. John never saw him eat, ut he decides not to comment.

 

***

Dumbledore rises once all the plates have been cleared of both dinner and dessert and the bellies of the room have swollen. He speaks. “I hope you have enjoyed the start of term feast. Your prefects will now escort you to your dormitories. Please leave through the doors at the back.” Conversations pick off from where they were left, and the students channel in a thick snake out of the doors. Mycroft stands next to a Hufflepuff girl with curly auburn hair. She catches John's eye and smiles before turning back to Mycroft, fluttering butterflies in John's stomach.

“Who's that with your brother?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and replies, “Anthea. Head girl, and a certain admirer of Mycroft. Has done everything he's asked of her since their first year. She used to pretend to be his girlfriend when he and Lestrade were keeping their relationship quiet, but they've always just been friends.” John nods and they leave the hall. Standing below the staircases in the mass confusion, they spot a boy with brilliant ginger hair.

“Gryffindor first years to me!” He repeats, over and over. They weave their way through and join the other eight students in their house, nodding their heads at each other in greeting. “Right, you all here? Great, I'm William Weasely, but everyone calls me Bill,” He smiles at them all before continuing, “Now, if you'd follow me, I'll show you to our common room.”

They walk in his footsteps, admiring the old castle and the moving paintings. He takes them through to a tall room. John looks up and gasps. Staircases turn and slide into place before spinning away to the next bannister, as if with their own minds. Students walk along them as they move, perfectly at ease with the moving stone.

“Don't be alarmed, they're perfectly safe, he calls over his shoulder.” One drags across and stops in front of them, allowing them to ascend it. Halfway up, it begins to move, and all but Sherlock and Bill grab onto the side. John takes his hands away and following Sherlock's retreating back, climbs up the stairs, barely wobbling with the rocking sensation. They climb several flights, and trek along corridors and more stairs, before finally reaching their destination.

“Password?” An aloft voice asks, and John sticks his head round to see the painting. A large woman lounges on a chair, her clothes wrapped around her bloated body.

“Vatican Cameos,” Bill answers, and with a small smile she swings open, revealing a hole in the wall. They climb through one after another, and then stand in a small huddle, eyes wide and jaws open at the Gryffindor common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know you probably thought they were going to be in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but I've got lots of ideas for them being in Gryffindor, and I also wanted to keep them in the same house to make it easier :) and yes, because it's five years before Harry, Ron and Hermione have joined I've added Bill and Charlie! It's very confusing XD  
> I attempted making a sorting hat song, sorry it's not the greatest! Plus I sorted the whole year (apparently there's fifty in a year, ten in each house, five boys and five girls making up each house) and wanted to do everyone so I don't have to make up random people later on :)


	5. Gryffindor Common Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are shown into their Common Room and dormitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SOSOSSOOSOSOSOSO sorry it's taken so long to update, I've just been so busy!

“This is the Gryffindor Common Room,” Bill says, grinning and spreading his arms out behind him. They gape at the room, the plush armchairs and roaring fires welcoming their damp bodies with promise of warmth and comfort. “Boys' dormitories are to the left, and girls' are to the right. As you are first years yours will be the first flight. Boys are unable to go into the girls' rooms but girls are allowed in the boys.” A burst of giggles from a tight knit of girls erupts from the small crowd. “You can stay in the Common Room until anytime, and although this place is cleaned nightly by house elves, please respect the Common Room and don't mess it up too much. Remember to keep the noise down as other Gryffindors will want to work in here. All your luggage has been placed next to your beds, and I recommend you do go to bed now, you've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” He finishes, and a buzz of talk sprouts up as the crowd begins to split in half. John and Sherlock follow the other three boys up to the staircase, and they ascend the shallow stairs. Behind them, they hear the voices of the older years beginning to climb through the hole.

“I wonder who I'll be next to,” John muses.

“Doesn't matter to me. Sleeping's boring. Useless. Just transport. Whoever I sleep next to won't change that.”

“Aren't you tired though?” John questions through a yawn.

“Not particularly,” Sherlock grumbles, yet John doesn't miss the heavy bags under his eyes.

The staircase continues to sweep up but they stop at the first door, like Bill had told them to. Mark presses a hand against it and they all crowd around the door as he pushes it open, wanting to see what lies behind.

They all pile through with exclaims and noises of awe at their dormitory. Five four poster beds are all spread apart across the circular room, the spaces between them equal between each one. A furnace sits in the center of the room, emitting heat. A large window sits at the back, with a large enough windowsill for someone to sit on, and a few jugs of water and cups are arrayed on it. At the foot of each bed is each person's luggage and animal. John spots his straight away, and feels something flip in his stomach as he sees Sherlock's luggage in front of the bed next to his. Sherlock's sits against the wall, John to his left, and to John's left is Antoine, followed by Chris, and then finally Mark.

John splits off from the group and goes to his bed, and the others begin to unpack their suitcases and unlock their pets' cages.

Clara softly nips John's hand in a friendly greeting, and he runs a finger over her soft feathers through the bars. He unlocks the cage and stands back as she swoops out and lands on his pillow. John proceeds to unpack his clothes. He folds them up and places them in the dresser next to his bed.

Drawing the curtains around his bed, John strips. Just about to put his trousers on, one side of the curtain gets yanked back.

“John.” Sherlock demands, as John jumps back with a shriek and rips the curtain back across. In just his boxers, John feels his cheeks flame as a chorus of laughter erupts from the others.

“Sherlock, stop, I'm trying to change here!” He yells as he and Sherlock fight with the curtain.

“John, what's the matter? Everyone else is changing in the open.” He whines. The curtain gets ripped from the drawings and John squeals as the side Sherlock stands on is completely taken off.

“For god's sake!” He cries out, shoving his pajamas on furiously. Sherlock pouts.

“Why are you embarrassed?” He questions.

“I'm not embarrassed, I just maybe don't want to change in front of a load of people.”

“Don't worry, John, we're not going to look,” Chortles Antoine from behind the other curtain, which is then also ripped back. All the other members sit on their beds, their curtains opened. They talk with each other, and John's embarrassment ebbs away, until he joins in with Antoine's laughter and begins to talk to him about sport.

After a while, John climbs underneath his duvet, still listening to Antoine's explanation of Quidditch.

“Yeah, we'll probably have lessons on Quidditch sometime this week.” Antoine says, nodding his head knowingly.

“Okay, cool,” John replies, turning his head to his left, “Sherlock do you-” He begins, yet cuts short as he sees Sherlock's curtains drawn tightly shut around his bed. John notices with surprise that his own curtain has been fixed, and then sees Sherlock's wand on his bedside table. Smiling slightly, he turns back to see Antoine in a deep discussion with Chris and Mark about their subjects and teachers.

“Night guys!” John calls to them, and in unison they reply “Goodnight!”, without turning away from each other, and then continue with their conversation.

John turns the oil lamp off on his bedside table, and draws his curtains back. They cut off the light from the other beds, and the murmuring voices of his roommates help him drift off into a dreamless sleep.

 


	6. Midnight Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't sleep and wakes up John.

John awakens, a soft melody luring him from his sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up, licking his dry lips. Now awake, he pulls back his curtain, and the quiet music stops, half way through a note. Shaking his head, he goes to the windowsill and pours a glass of water. After chugging it down, he returns to his bed and slips under the duvet and lies his head back down, thinking he must have just imagined the music.

A few minutes later as he begins to slip off again, the stirring sound fills his ears again. Grumbling, he pulls the duvet back and tiptoes out, trying to locate the sound.

He first creeps over to the window and peers out, thinking someone could be outside, yet the source of the noise seems to come from inside the room. Treading around carefully, he places his ear against the walls to see if it's coming from the common room, yet the further he goes from his bed, the quieter it gets.

Stepping back to his bed, he strains his ears. The sound seems to be coming from Sherlock's bed.

Slowly, he pulls back the edge of Sherlock's curtain, and peeks through the gap. Sherlock sits on his bed, legs crossed and playing the violin. A faint blue glow swirls around the violin, muffling the sound. His wand rests next to him, illuminating the sheet in front of him. Every few seconds he stops and scribbles something down before completely starting again.

“Hey,” John whispers, and Sherlock startles, screeching on his violin and dropping it on the bed.

“What do you want?” He hisses, picking it back up and placing it on his shoulder. He grabs his wand and waves it, muttering “Muffalio,” and the blue glow returns.

“Are you composing?” He asks, ignoring his question. Sherlock glances up at John, and hesitates before answering.

“Yes.”

“Cool, can I listen?” Sherlock's eyes flick back up to John's face, taken aback. Nodding at John, he returns his attention to his violin. John pulls back the curtains and sits across from Sherlock, then pulls the curtain back.

They sit in silence as Sherlock continues to play, the music barely loud enough for John to hear, yet loud enough for him to appreciate it.

John feels his eyes slowly closing and his head begin to droop.

“Sorry about the curtain thing,” Sherlock mutters, bent over the paper. John feels himself startle awake. Sherlock looks up at him from beneath his curls, grimacing.

“Oh no, that's fine, don't worry about it, I overreacted a bit,”

“Well I did rip your curtain off,” Their eyes meet and they share a small giggle, Sherlock's laugh much deeper than John's.

“I guess I just don't really know how to react to... you,” Sherlock confesses, waving the violin bow at John.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just don't have many friends really, at parties with all the other families I would be shut up in my room while Mike and a few other pure blood children would be downstairs. I wouldn't talk to them, and they'd leave me alone. I'm not that used to... friends.” He blushes, and returns the bow to the strings.

“I'm your friend?” John asks, smiling slightly. Sherlock answers with silence, and John sees him visibly freeze. “I'm glad you're my friend, Sherlock. I was worried I wouldn't make any friends here.” Sherlock nods, and John nods back. Yawning, he stretches. “Well, I better go back to bed.” He slips out from Sherlock's curtain and clambers back into his own bed. The music continues quietly for another few minutes, and then stops and is replaced by some shuffling and muttering. John opens an eye to see Sherlock placing his violin and wand on his dresser, and then opening his curtain just in front of his head, so he has a clear view of John. They smile at each other awkwardly as their eyes adjust to the darkness and they notice each other staring at the other one; Sherlock turns over.

Slowly, John falls back into sleep.

Sherlock lies awake for another hour, watching John curiously as his chest rises and falls with each breath before he falls asleep to the rhythmic sound. Sherlock echoes each of John's steady huffs of air with a small snore.


	7. Herbology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock has their first class in Hogwarts.

Bleary eyed, John awakes, stretching in the morning rays of sunlight. Chris' face looms in front of him as he shakes John.

“Whaissit?” John mumbles, turning over and burrowing into the duvets. John Watson is heavily affected if he stays up late, and he feels the effect from last night taking place.

“John mate, you better get up, classes start in ten minutes.”

“WHAT?!” He yells, tumbling out of bed. Scrambling off the floor, he yanks open his drawer and shifts through it, searching for his pants, socks, clothes, and wizarding robes.

“Why didn't anyone wake me?” He demands angrily, glaring around at the empty dormitory. Chris shuffles his feet and murmurs his reply.

“Sherlock said he woke you up, we all thought you went for a walk or something, but I came up here to get my wand, and I saw he hadn't.”

“I will kill him. I swear to God, I will _kill_ him.” He spits, ripping his pajama top off over his head. Balling it up, he shoves it under the pillow. The door opens and both he and Chris spin round to see who it was. Sherlock glides into the room, and halts when he sees John getting changed. His eyes flick up from his bare stomach to John's eyes with a smirk.

“See, Chris, I told you I woke him up,” He says smoothly, striding across to his bedside table to retrieve his wand. Chris, shaking his head, leaves the room as he sees John begin to swell with anger.

The door clicks shut and he feels himself snap as it does.

“Why the bloody hell did you not wake me up?” He bellows at him. Sherlock doesn't even turn his back.

“I did. I woke you up when I got up,”

“Oh you did, did you?”

“Yes, I did. So I don't know why you are getting so mad at me.”

“How did you wake me up?”

“I said your name.”

“How many times?”

“Just the once. It's not my fault you weren't paying attention.”

“I was asleep, Sherlock!” Sherlock mumbles inaudibly at this, and John leans in, “What was that?”

“I said I brought you up breakfast!” He repeats, raising his voice. John feels his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he catches the toast coated in jam.

“Oh right, thanks, I do love jam.” He stammers, biting into the still warm toast.

“I know.” Sherlock sigh irritably. He picks up his wand and waves it at John. “You better hurry up. We have to be in herbology in three minutes.” He turns and smiles to himself as he hears John choke slightly on his toast and curse, quickly changing into his clothes.

“Right, I'm ready.” Sherlock turns back from fiddling with his violin, and bursts out with laughter as he sees John. His hair is ruffled from when he gruffly pulled his top over his head.

“Your robes are inside out and your shoes are on the wrong foot, John!” He says through deep chuckles. John looks down, and yelps, hurriedly trying to sort out his clothes. “Oh and don't worry, I got you your timetable. I knew you weren't on a walk, but I thought after last night you needed to catch up on your sleep,”

“Oh thanks a bunch,” He mutters sarcastically back, “And why would I need my sleep and not you? You were up longer than me,”

“Oh John, I rarely sleep at night. It's all just transport, boring, pointless.” He concludes. After fixing himself, John straightens up.

“Ready, let's go!” He follows Sherlock out, and he laughs along to Sherlock's remarks about the teachers.

“Come on, John, we're going to be really late soon,” He calls back over his shoulder, speeding up dramatically.

“Yeah, okay, Sherlock, just wait, let me catch up!” John puffs, jogging slightly to keep up with his friend's long stride. Is Sherlock his friend? He honestly doesn't know.

***

John ducks his head as Sherlock confidently swings the greenhouse door open. The whole of the classes' eyes spring up from the teacher, and she turns around, expectant eyebrows raised.

“Sorry we're late, professor, I would make up an excuse, but you'll let us go anyway.” He drawls, joining the rest of the class gathered around the table.

“Five points from Gryffindor from both of you for your lateness, and another ten from you for talking rudely, mister..”

“Anderson,” He replies with a pleasant smile, drawing a giggle from John's chest. Sherlock covers John's foot with his own and presses down lightly to stop his laughter, and John bites his cheek to try suppress it.

“Not good, young man, lowering your house to below zero points on your first day,” She scolds, yet smiles coldly. All the girl Gryffindors glare at them, yet all the boys know he spared them ten points and made Slytherin lose some at the same time. They share grins and nudges, yet Sherlock ignores them and begins to whisper to John.

“She's not our actual teacher, she should have learnt our names before the class,” He hisses to him. The woman turns around to sort out the flower pots, beckoning two students to help her.

“And?” He whispers back.

“She won't remember I'm not called Anderson,” He murmurs, smiling.

“Anderson, that's another twenty points from your house for talking during lessons!” She barks. The flowerpots are passed down the table, and the other Gryffindor boys tell the girls his actual name, and they join in on the laughs, all but Molly. She frowns slightly and worriedly looks at Sherlock. He catches her eye and returns her with a steely gaze, making her cheeks glow red and her eyes to flick down to her flowerpot. He continues to stare at her, eyes gradually becoming thinner and thinner as he analyses every detail of her mouse like face.

“Now, I am not in fact your teacher, I am covering for your herbology professor for a few terms.” The class breaks out into a low hum as they discuss the news, yet Sherlock speaks up over them.

“Why? What could have possibly have happened to her since last night? She was at the feast, why isn't she going to be here for a few _terms_?” He queries. Her cheeks flush and she glares at him.

“Mr Anderson! That will be a detention at five tonight in my office for talking back to me again, and for being so nosy, as well as this, the whole of this class will suffer by receiving double homework!” The class groan and both Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs shoot daggers at him, all humour gone from his trick of changing his name.

The hour progresses slowly, and finally they hear the bell in the clock tower strike. They brush off the soil from their hands, and the teacher calls after them to remember their homework for Wednesday, and reminds 'Anderson' to go to his after school detention.

“What have we got next?” John asks, catching up with Sherlock as he storms out from the greenhouse.

“Potions, with the Slytherins. Hopefully no one is an idiot enough to tell the real Anderson about my little name change.” He answers, running a hand quickly through his curls.

“Why would it matter?”

“Because he would tell Snape, his head of house, whom would then punish me severely, and he will inform that _woman_ of my real name, plunging Gryffindors even lower on the points. Not that I care, but I would rather not lose to my brother in our first year,” He adds, gesturing with his hands as he talks.

“Oh right, okay. I get you.” John answers. “So, you're going to have to stick with Anderson until our actual teacher comes back, aren't you? I'm not sure she'll forget you soon.”

He receives a grin from Sherlock, and he joins in with the smile, their robes billowing as they step outside to go back into the main part of Hogwarts.


	8. Potions Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their second lesson at Hogwarts, is potions, with their teacher Severus Snape.

They plod down the stairs in silence, their footsteps clapping in the murky dungeon. They faintly hear sounds of students down the hall laughing and chatting. As they turn a corner, the voices grow, and a small crowd of first years clump together at the end. John and Sherlock join the fringes of the crowd.

“What's our teacher's name again? Shake? Snake?”

“It's _Professor Snape_ ,” A cold voice sneers from behind him, “And you are?”

“John Watson, sir,” John squeaks, shrinking slightly as he looks up at the figure. His oily curtains of hairs drape down at the sides of his unattractive and pale face.

“Get inside,” He snaps, flicking his wand. The heavy door swings open and they file inside. “Silence,” He orders in a dead voice. The conversations cease immediately, and the door slams shut. Each of them take a seat, Anderson, Moriaty and Donovan at the front row, and behind them Sherlock, John, Mary and Chris. He sweeps to the front of the class, his robes billowing behind him. “As you all know, I am your potions master. Here is the place you will learn to brew beauties that no wand can conjure. You will perfect solutions muggles dream of. You will go against the rules of physics. So long as you pay _attention_ ,” He cracks, pointing his wand at where Mary Morstan sits with her book. Her novel slams shut and is accompanied with her gasp and furious blush. John can feel Sherlock's smirk without even having to look at him. “Get out your quills and parchment,” He orders, striding around the classroom and looking down at each of them over his hooked nose. “Write these words precisely...”

The list they had to write down was a simple potion recipe called the Babbling Beverage. John scans his longhand writing, and nods, running through the recipe in his head to try help him not forget a step.

“Supplies are in the cupboard. Go.” Snape coolly says, and then revolves around the tables, checking notes. John and Sherlock join the others as they swarm around the cupboards, grabbing various potion ingredients and calling out to their partners.

John turns to Sherlock and asks, “So do you want to work toge- Sherlock?” He spins around, searching for the black curls in the crowd.

“Right here, John.” Sherlock murmurs, and John turns around to see Sherlock already shifting the small vials, bottles and dried up ingredients.

“Oh okay. So as I was saying-”

“Yes, John, I will go with you,”

“Right. Okay then.”

“Problem?”

“Huh?”

“Is there a problem with working with me?” He asks in full, looking up from the bottles. John sees a flash of something in Sherlock's eyes, that is quickly covered up again. Was it worry? It went too fast for John to tell.

“No, none at all!” He exclaims, and mentally kicks himself for answering so quickly and eagerly. Sherlock merely smiles slightly before returning to sorting the bottles.

 

***

 

By the end of the lesson, Sherlock had learnt a few things.

Firstly, that he and John worked well together in Potions. John had a good eye on when things were ready, and had quick reactions to getting the ingredients in just at the right time, and Sherlock had always had a knack at making potions, ever since Mycroft had bought him a potion set when he was four (much to his mother's disappointment – She wanted him to be good at Quidditch, not potions.)

As well as that, Mary Morstan has a crush on John. Many times she wandered over to their desk to “ask a question” or to “See what their potion was looking like” and felt her constant wide eyed gaze on him. He grinned when her and Chris' potion had been declared by Snape a “disaster”, finding the eyes of girls irritating and a meaningless distraction.

Thirdly, Snape is a lonely man, still in love with a dead woman and blaming himself. Treats others the way he was treated as a child, seeing them like the people who tormented him, and he finally has the power to retaliate. He also lives alone, with a pet lizard in his room, he smelt faintly of their food and had a few scales on his sleeve. Too fresh to be an ingredient.

And finally, his cover teacher for Herbology shouldn't be here. His actual professor isn't sick, or busy or anything. Someone has purposefully taken her out of education, and put in that woman to teach the class. And Sherlock is determined to find out who, why and how.


	9. Unforgivable Curses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John confront their Herbology supply teacher.

“Sherlock, aren't you coming to lunch?” John calls out. They had both been previously following the rest of the school into the Great Hall, when Sherlock had suddenly spun away and started to stride down the corridor.

“I need to talk to our Herbology supply teacher.” He answers, running his hands through his rampant curls.

“What about?” John questions, falling into stride with the taller boy. Sherlock smiles slightly at his complete acceptance.

“How she got the job, and where our actual teacher is,” He answers vaguely, twirling his wand in his hands.

“She won't answer those questions. I tell you now, she won't.” He catches sight of the wand and feels his jaw drop, “Sherlock... you... you can't hex our teacher!”

“First of all she's _not_ our teacher, secondly, this is merely defense in case she attacks us.” John nods, and they turn round the corner into the courtyard. The gentle breeze lures them outside, and they spot a few other students gathered in small groups in the beginning of Autumn sunshine.

“Well well well, look who it is,” A soft, Irish voice drawls from behind them. John tries to grab Sherlock's arm to pull him away from them, but he is shaken off, drawing smirks and snide comments from the three facing them. John stands next to Sherlock and crosses his arms, legs apart, standing his ground. “If it isn't the clever potions boy and his little sidekick,”

“Freak and his little pet,” Sally adds, receiving a burst of laughter from Anderson, and a smirk from Moriarty.

“Oh what I would do for such an obedient, loyal little pet like yours, Sherlock,” Moriarty muses quietly, his eyes flicking to John's face momentarily, before returning to Sherlock's. The others giggle at his words, yet Moriarty’s face remains serious. John's jaw clenches and his fists curl, and he feels Sherlock shuffle from one foot to the other.

“So what are you up to?” Moriarty asks, as if they were old friends.

Sherlock's sticks his chin out defiantly before answering, “Investigating a crime. Anyway, what's it to you?” The two henchmen of Moriarty crack up with laughter, looking at both John and Sherlock as if they are crazy. Moriarty, turns his head to the side slightly, the corners of his lips twitching. He faces Sherlock and John again and his eyes narrow.

“You were always so nosy, Sherlock. It's quite annoying actually.”

“You don't know anything about me!” Sherlock spits back.

“Oh but Sherlock I do, I really do.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Anderson and Donovan regain control of themselves. They glare at John and Sherlock, but every so often John catches their eyes trailing nervously to Moriarty.

“Nice to have a little chat, Sherlock, we must do this more often. I loved that meeting we had, it was so... entertaining.” He bares his teeth in a smile and holds a hand up. “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes,” The three of them turn away, Sally's frizzy hair bouncing with every step. She flips her head around and glares at Sherlock, before whipping it back around again.

“What was that about?” John asks as they begin to carry on with their walk, “What did he mean your 'little meeting'?”

“It doesn't matter,” Sherlock replies quietly but viciously.

“But, Sherlo-”

“I said it _doesn't matter_. All that matters is the case,” He hisses, and John falls silent, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock's words and tone. Although he wants to deny it, John does feel a spark of jealousy deep inside him, and no matter how much he wants it to go away, it refuses to leave.

Sherlock pushes open the door to the Herbology greenhouses, and they spot the woman at the very back of the room, hunched over the table. Green gloves stretch up to her elbows, and John spots the mask straps wrapped tightly around her pale strawberry blonde hair. A hissing sound fills the room, the main source coming from where she stands. A faint orange glow swirls around the worktop, and she murmurs incoherent words.

“What's that, professor?”

“Merlin's beard!” She shrieks, turning around and placing her hands on the bench, covering up whatever she was experimenting with.

“What are you doing in here? Get out at once!” She demands, her voice shaking slightly.

“Is that allowed in here, Miss Gruntard? Are you sure it's... legal?”

“Of course it is, Anderson, and now I command you to leave this greenhouse or I will have your head of year on you!”

“Oh I am certain you will either way, so I might as well stay and chat.” He replies, arms behind his back as he slowly places one foot in front of the other.

“About what?”

“You. Why you are here, what you did with our teacher, and who your master is.” He finishes, leaning on the desk and narrowing his eyes at her.

“I... I don't know what you are on about.” She replies somewhat smoothly, before shaking her head, and stepping forward. She flicks her wand and a sheet covers up whatever was behind her, yet the white cloth doesn't cover up the orange rays of light.

“Get out of the greenhouse _now_ or I shall call the headmaster. Now _leave_.”

“I'm not leaving until I have answers.”

She flicks her wand again, and John yelps as he feels himself whooshing through the air. She grabs him and yanks him down next to her, wrapping a hand around his neck and pressing her wand to it.

“If you don't leave now, I _will_ hurt him.” Sherlock's eyes widen, and they flick to John's face before quickly retreating to hers. He composes himself, before answering.

“I barely know him, wouldn't matter much to me,” John feels something in his chest tighten at these words, and his eyes prick with tears. This may have happened before with him, friends abandoning him for the bully of the playground, but he honestly thought Sherlock might care a little bit about him.

“Is that so?” She asks, and John could practically hear the smirk in her voice, “So you won't care at all if I do _this_?” She questions, before pressing against his neck harder with her wand, “ _Crucio_!” She cries, and John feels his body writhe in her arms. Pain shoots across his whole body, cramping up his muscles and tearing at his skin. He feels himself slip through her grasp and crash to the floor. His whole body shakes through the pain, his back arching and inhuman cries tumble from his mouth. Everything around him grows fuzzy, and he feels his eyes unfocus. This has to be the end, he thinks to himself, there's no way he's ever going to live through this. He feels Sherlock's name fall from his lips at least a dozen times.

“Ah, Sherlock Holmes, is it? Not Anderson.” She murmurs, yet John could barely make out what the syllables meant.

“Stop it, stop it now!” Bellows Sherlock, his voice muffled slightly. The pain disappears immediately, and John feels himself sag.

“There are two other unforgivable curses, Sherlock Holmes, and if you don't leave this instant, continue pestering me, or tell the Headmaster of our little encounter, I won't hesitate to use them on both of you. Now _leave_.” John feels two strong hands cup under his armpits and haul him to his feet. An arm slings around his waist and the other on his left shoulder.

“Come on, John,” A deep voice whispers in his ear, and he feels his head nod towards it and rest on a boney yet sturdy shoulder.

“I still hurt,” He hears himself moan. The greenhouse doors are pushed open and he gulps down fresh air as it tingles on his hot skin. The person holding him presses John against the cool glass of the greenhouse. John opens his bleary eyes to see Sherlock's face looming in front of him, his own shoulders being held up by Sherlock's hands.

“Are you alright?” John tries to nod, but his head seems to just roll on his shoulders with the effort. “John, are you alright?” He presses again.

“Yeah... Sherlock... M'fine.” He groans, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand.

“Good. Right, good.” Sherlock mutters, retreating his hands from John.

“So do I really not matter to you then?” John had felt the question burning through him ever since the words had rung in his ears.

“What? Oh right, that. No, John, of course you do. I was just trying to stop her from hurting you.” Sherlock clears his throat, and John feels a smile tugging at his lips, thinking of Sherlock being embarrassed.

“Oh, okay then, that's good,” John opens his eyes and smiles at Sherlock, whom then returns the smile.

“Yes, it is good. Lunch?”

“Starving.” John kicks himself off the wall, and he walks with Sherlock back to the Great Hall. “So did you find anything out in that 'encounter', as she put it?”

“A few things, but I need to find out some more things before I can make any definite conclusions. I have a few ideas though. Mind coming to the library after school with me?”

“Alright, and sure. But what about your after school detention?”

“That was never confirmed for Sherlock Holmes. Anderson on the other hand...” He trails off and they share a giggle. John follows him around the corner, and they step into the Great Hall, and spotting Greg sitting at the Gryffindor table.

“Shall we?” John asks nodding to Lestrade.

“Oh, very well.” Sherlock groans, following John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys just saying that I wrote another chapter today (the 5/11/2013) and it will be up tomorrow by 8:00 pm (English time, sorry don't know the name of the time zone) so the 6th November (duh Maya) after spellchecks and edits etc.  
> In really sorry it takes so long between each chapter but I'm kind of brain storming ideas for what to happen in the next chapters in between days of writing them, plus I have a load of school work so it's quite hard to balance, and I am literally writing this up as I go along, I barely know the details! (Probably shouldn't have told you that. Oh well) so yeah, sorry for the delays, but I promise a new one will be up tomorrow, and I'll go through all the previous chapters and check spellings and grammar :)


	10. Lunchtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have lunch with Greg, and receive a small visit from Mycroft.

“Sherlock, John, hi!” Greg greets them, covering his mouth and talking through a mound of mash potato.

“I'd prefer it if you didn't talk with food in your mouth please, Lestrade,” Sherlock quips, huffing into a seat opposite Greg.

Greg swallows and smirks as he replies, “Sorry, mother,” John feels Sherlock wince slightly next to him, and surprised he was affected by such a small insult. However when he turns to look at Sherlock, he sees he's back with his steely composure.

“Dear God, couldn't you at least try make your insults original? It does get tiresome hearing the same comeback repeated over and over.”

“Sorry I'll try sharpen my tongue to aspire to your standards then,” He jokes back.

“I would be most grateful if you did that, truly. However, I don't think it will be possible in just two years.” Greg blushes slightly, but ignores him.

“Wait, I thought you were in your seventh year?” John inquires, cocking his head.

“No. I have to go through two years with Mycroft out of school and pursuing a career in the Ministry of Magic,” He grumbles, stabbing his fork at the sausages and glaring at his plate.

“He won't forget about you,” Sherlock murmurs, rolling the small handful of peas on his clean plate with the points of his fork Greg looks up, surprised and also slightly bashful.

“You don't know that, he'll have a job and won't have time for a silly schoolboy,”

“Oh undoubtedly he won't, but you're not a silly schoolboy. He does care about you Lestrade, no matter how much I hate to repeat this, he even talks about you in his sleep. Much to my dismay,” He adds hurriedly to the end, eyes flicking up from his plate and to Greg's face, which had grown steadily redder.

“Well what happens when it's the holidays and he's too busy to see me, and we just drift apart?”

“He won't let that happen, and you know it,” Sherlock growls quietly, now scowling at his own plate, as if he was forced to answer these questions. As Greg opens his mouth to speak again, Sherlock quickly cuts him off, “John, I'm not hungry.”

“Well, Sherlock, you do have to eat something especially after-” Sherlock stamps on his foot under the table and silences John, “After.. uh... Potions. It was really stressful.” They share a look, and Sherlock nods, before adding a small dollop of mash potato and a few extra peas.

“Yeah, Potions is a tricky one, guys, especially when it's a double,” He shudders slightly as he continues, “I mean, it's a whole extra lesson with the Snake, isn't it?” Sherlock's eyes roll at the poor nickname, and Snape glides past, snapping at them.

“That'll be fifteen points from Gryffindor.” He continues without stopping all the way up to the teacher's table.

“Great.” Greg spits, glaring at the Potions Master. John pierces a sausage and slices it into thirds. He chews on the succulent meat, happy to have something warm in him after the attack.

“My oh my, Sherlock Holmes, eating? You must be having a good effect on him, Watson,” Mycroft appears by Greg's shoulder and the three of them jump. He slides onto the bench next to Greg, and opposite John. He smiles at John, however it comes out rather sour. “Are you alright? You look a bit... Shaken. Both of you,” He observes, narrowing his eyes, “What have you been up to?” He asks darkly, lower than before.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Sherlock snaps, piercing one of the peas with the left most spike.

“You are my brother, and I am Head Boy of this school. It does concern me, and you should tell me,” He is rewarded with silence, “Don't make me deduct points from your already empty hourglass,” He warns, but is again greeted with silence. Greg ducks his head and continues eating, choosing to stay out of the brotherly wars, and John follows suit.

“Fine. If you must know, John and I are investigating a _crime_.” He replies sourly, and John feels himself perk up that he was included in this. He then however deflates, after receiving a withering look from Mycroft.

“Oh really Sherlock, you must stop these foolish games,”

“They're not games!” He yells, receiving odd looks from surrounding groups. He lowers his voice and adds, “And it _doesn't concern you_ ,”

Mycroft finally sighs, and rises, patting Lestrade on the shoulder, and kissing his cheek. Greg turns his face slightly towards the kiss, showing he acknowledges it, while looking down at his plate and chewing. He strides away, and leaves the Great Hall.

“Thank God, he's gone.” Sherlock mutters.

“Hey, that is my boyfriend,”

“And that is my brother!”

They return to silence. Sherlock continues to just fiddle with the food on his plate, not having even risen the fork to his lips once.

“So... What's this case?” John looks up in surprise at Greg, but Sherlock merely shrugs.

“And why should I tell you?”

“Because when I'm older I want to work as an aura, and I need the practice, it might be fun, and hey, you never know, I might be able to help.”

Sherlock scoffs and replies, “And how do I know you won't go running to my brother explaining everything?”

“Look, I don't tell your brother everything, and I won't go behind your back like that, I do count you as a friend,” Again Sherlock scoffs, “Even if you don't count me as one,” Greg adds grudgingly. Sherlock looks to John, who nods, and then he sighs, dropping his fork with a clatter.

“Fine, but no word of this is repeated to my brother,”

“I swear, not a word.”

Sherlock proceeds to tell the story from when they first entered Herbology, and John adds tiny nuggets of information that Sherlock thinks isn't necessary, however makes no comment. Lestrade's frown becomes deeper and deeper throughout the explanation, and then smooths out as he widens his eyes when Sherlock tells him of the use of Crucio on John.

“No... but she's a teacher!” He exclaims, looking wide eyed at John in both disbelief and awe. “What was it like?” He asks in a hushed whisper, but Sherlock just continues with the story, much to the relief of John. John wasn't sure he really wanted to remember the pain.

“I thought you looked quite shaken when you came in John, but I didn't want to say anything,”

“Oh it's fine don't worry,” John replies, with a small grimace. He tentatively puts pressure on his thigh where he had hit it on the desk when he fell to the floor. He inhales sharply at the pain that pierces it, and receives a worried flick of the eyes from Sherlock.

“Sorry guys, I've got to go... uh... revise in the library, see you!” He leaves quickly, and turns the same way Mycroft went, the opposite way to the library.

“Yeah right, more like snogging my brother,” Sherlock grumbles, rolling the peas on his plate again. “Hang on, ooh something just struck me about the case... We must go to the library at once!”

“Sherlock, you need to eat!”

“But Jawn, I'm not hungry!” He whines, but John has none of it.

“If you don't eat everything on your plate, I won't come with you to the library now, or after school,”

“You'll miss out on the case,” Sherlock replies with a smirk.

“And you won't have any company, oh how lonely,” John muses. They lock eyes for a long while, staring each other off. Finally, Sherlock sags and begins to grumble as he eats shovels the the tiny portion of peas and mash. John feels relief flood through him; he wasn't sure how much longer he would have been able to continue staring at those piercing eyes that swallowed your whole life in a glance. He clears his whole plate and shouts,

“Done! Come on John, the library awaits!” He spins up and grabs John's arm, pulling him out of the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 400 HITS!! Guys thank you so much for reading, bookmarking, leaving kudos and just gah I love you all :) Hopefully you are enjoying this as much as I am writing it! Please feel free to leave feedback and stuff down below and I hope you're still interested in reading this!!! :D


	11. Library Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock search the library for books to help them with the case.

“What are we looking for here, Sherlock?” John sighs, watching Sherlock spin around the lanes and grab random books, stacking them high in his arms.

“Research, John.”

“Yeah but researching what exactly?”

“Murder, crimes, dark leaders, the usual.”

“The usual, of course.” He mutters back sarcastically, following the excited whirlwind.

John glances around sheepishly as Sherlock slams down the heavy tomes of books onto the oak desk, and the pair receive glares of annoyance from surrounding tables.

“Sherlock, keep it down!” John hisses to him, going to stand by his side.

“Why? This case is much more important than a few pointless OWLs.”

At this, Madame Pince swoops over to them and lowers herself to their level. She places a finger on her lip and shushes them, spraying gooey spit over their faces.

“Say it, don't spray it,” Sherlock says to her retreating back, and then looks down to sort out the books into piles of importance.

She doesn't turn around, but John sees her body tense up as she continues to slip around silently, peering over student's shoulders, and shooing louder ones out.

They both slide out a chair and sit down, John staring confusedly at the array of books Sherlock had grabbed. Twenty in total, they ranged from The Properties Of Water Insects, to How To Teach Your Owl To Do Tricks.

“And your choice for these books are...”

“Well, John, I haven't the faintest idea about what we're dealing with, and so we will flick through these books until we find any relevant information,”

“To do with...”

“I've already told you! Murder, crimes and dark leaders!”

“Right... Right, okay then,” John grabs the most promising looking one, A-Z Of The Greatest Wizards, and he begins to flick through.

 

***

 

“Nothing, nothing, NOTHING!” Bellows Sherlock, slamming the seventh book shut. The whole library looks up as he grabs all the books and shoves his chair back, about to put them back.

“Put those books down on the table and leave a library _this instance_! Both of you!” Madame Pince shrieks from her desk. Sherlock huffs and spills them back onto the table, and John rises. They remain silent as they leave, the whole library's eyes glued to them. They hear the whoosh of the books whizzing through the air to return to their places, but neither look round, or remove their eyes from the door. John holds back and allows Sherlock the dramatics of slamming the door open and striding out. John follows him, and then shuts the door behind them quietly. He turns around, and sees Sherlock standing in front of him, his face straight. Their eyes meet, and they stare looking at each other for a few seconds, and Sherlock's frustration ebbs away. Simultaneously, John and Sherlock's faces crack smiles, and they begin to laugh with each other.

“Come, on, let's go to the Common Room,” John says, regaining control. Sherlock does the same, and they wander back across the school.

Just as they begin to climb the first staircase, Sherlock spots Molly walking along the floor below. He hangs over the railing and John does the same.

“Hooper! Molly Hooper!” He calls out, waving. She glances up from the floor, her mouth opened slightly. Her eyes land on Sherlock and a shy smile creeps across her face.

“Hi, Sherlock!” She squeaks, and then spots John, “Hi... um... sorry...”

“John Watson,” John sighs.

“Oh right, sorry, John. What did you need Sherlock?” She returns her wide eyes to Sherlock, and John feels his own roll.

“Could you get the book Dark Magic For Dark Wizards out of the library please? I would, but we were just kicked out of it.”

“Oh, um, sure, but wouldn't that be in the restricted section?” She asks, frowning worriedly. Sherlock's face falls, and his whole body sags. Too over the top, John thinks to himself.

“If it's too much hassle then it's alright, I could always ask Mary or someone. By the way, I like your wand, I saw it this morning when we had Herbology with your house. It's very...” He struggles to find a word, yet luckily Molly intervenes.

“Oh thank you, Sherlock, it's maple, with unicorn hair,” She smiles sweetly, and then hurriedly adds, “You know, I could try to get into the restricted section, you never know, it might work,”

“Thank you, Molly.” Sherlock answers smugly, before straightening up and climbing up the rest of the stair case.

“That's... That's okay,” She pipes, looking both confused and sad. John watches her with a dash of sympathy as she turns around and goes to the library. He then follows Sherlock back to the Common Room.

 

***

“Lestrade!” Sherlock exclaims in surprise as he turns the corner and comes face to face with him.

“Oh hi Sherlock, John. Myc heard about the library by the way, he's not happy.”

“Ugh, do you have to call him _Myc_? And I don't care if it affected his relationship with Madame Pince in the slightest. Anyway, as I was going to say, I need you to get Mycroft to get Dark Magic For Dark Wizards out of the library for me. It's in the restricted section, and you, me and John can't, so you'll need to ask the head boy.” Greg opens his mouth, yet Sherlock cuts him off, “John and I can't ask him, he'll know it's to do with the case and will refuse. You on the other hand...”

“I dunno, I don't think he'd believe me...”

“Please?” John adds.

Lestrade sighs and scratches his head, before answering, “Alright fine, but, but!” He quickly says as they begin to walk off, “If he suspects me of anything other than school work and confronts you, you tell him I'm not involved in the case, and that I thought it was for your school work,”

“Naturally.” Sherlock answers, and then continues back to the Gryffindor Common Room. John brushes past Lestrade and gives him a thankful nod, and catches up with Sherlock.

“I thought you had asked Molly Hooper to get the book?”

“John, be realistic, she'd never manage to get it. I was just merely testing how far her admiration of me allows me to take advantage of her,”

“Sherlock,” John answers warningly.

“Oh John don't worry, it will all be towards the case. And any extra errands I need doing. Nothing big.”

 

***

“Mrs Gruntard, what are you doing down the Gryffindor corridor? Shouldn't you be experimenting on students? And why have you got some manky old blanket?” The woman turns round and splutters, her pointy wrinkled face outraged and dangerous. In her arms is a murky brown cloak, that seems to hold a magical aroma.

“ _You_ ,” She spits angrily, pacing towards them both. Sherlock subconsciously slides a shoulder in front of John's, trying to keep him as far from her as possible. “Don't you _dare_ talk to _me_ like that, young man!”

“Oh I apologise, I must refrain from insulting the woman who used an illegal curse on my muggle born friend's first day at Hogwarts.” He replies quickly, yet with clarity. Her eyes narrow and she waggles a finger at him.

“Don't you think I've forgotten about your detention, Holmes, you're still coming to my office at five.” Sherlock opens his mouth to say something, yet he hears John whisper 'leave it' and so he closes it, and sweeps past her along the Gryffindor corridor.

“On your way, boy,” She snarls at John, before she slinks off down the corridor they came from, and around a hallway. John jogs to catch up with Sherlock, and doesn't say a word, noticing the complete look of concentration on Sherlock's face, and deciding it best to leave him to his thoughts.

“Vatican Cameos,” John calls out as they approach the painting. She swings open and allows them access to their Common Room.

Stepping inside, they both look at each other in confusion. The whole of their house stands gathered in a circle, cries of panic slipping into mutterings. Sherlock parts the crowd, and John follows behind him.

John feels his mouth fall open at what he sees.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)  
> Sorry if the last line was a bit cheesy, and if the deductions weren't all that good, I find them quite hard to write! (God knows how ACD, Moffat and Gattis wrote/write them!!)  
> Please leave any feedback in the comments, much appreciated :3


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